


snowmen

by stannarding



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Drabble, Gen, gladio is also there for about four words, just cleaning up my tumblr rn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-08 20:14:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14701377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stannarding/pseuds/stannarding
Summary: Not everyone has the right to roughhouse with the prince of Lucis; Prompto does.





	snowmen

Prompto spots his target from around the rose bushes. He counts three breaths – one-quick, two-quick, three-quick – and then he lunges with all the grace and power that Crownsguard training has instilled in him.

It’s not much, but it’s still enough to tackle the Crown Prince of Lucis and shove his face into the snow.

“Hey!” Noctis sputters, already trying to roll Prompto, to get the upper hand. They’ve gone over this kind of thing in training a lot; he’s not all that good at it. Self-satisfied as can be, Prompto settles in – not all of his weight, not on Noct’s back – and sets about building a very tiny snowman on the prince’s shoulderblades while Noct keeps complaining beneath him. “This is assault!”

Prompto glances at Gladio, the primary arbiter of what does and doesn’t constitute assault on the royal body. He’s nose deep in a book, sprawled on a bench that some gardener must’ve cleared off for him, and looks thoroughly uninterested in their play-wrestling.

“Your shield has abandoned you,” Prompto says serenely. Noctis groans and starts struggling again, testing the places where Prompto doesn’t have him pinned; the snowman falls over, crumbling to pieces. “Hey! If anything was assault, that was –”

His indignation is apparently what it takes for Noct to gain the upper hand: in seconds, he’s flat on his back with the wind knocked out of him, with two handfuls of snow dumped down his shirt. Noct isn’t nearly as generous about throwing his weight around. He sits square on Prompto’s stomach, arms crossed, and scowls down at him in a way that he might actually think is impressive.

Prompto grins up at him in a way that he knows is very disarming. It doesn’t work.

“You get a three-second head start,” Noctis says, standing and offering him a hand, “and then I’m shoving snow down your jeans.”

That’s all the warning Prompto needs: it’s not a race he can win, not against someone who can warp, but he still sets off across the courtyard with a laugh and a shout.

**Author's Note:**

> i feel weird posting drabbles on here but i'm doing it anyway???


End file.
